What You Always Wanted Read Free

she swats me away.
    â€œI’m fine,” she says in a clipped voice. “Let’s get you to school.”
    â€œAngela’s coming to get me in, like, five minutes. You really don’t know where my backpack is?”
    â€œShe’s old enough to drive? I thought you said she was in tenth grade.”
    â€œShe turned sixteen in July.”
    â€œWell, isn’t that comforting?” Ma’s face somehow falls even more. “I always take you to school the first day.”
    â€œOh. Well, Angela offered to bring me there early and show me around, so I said yes. You wanted me to make friends here, right?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “I’ll need you to pick me up, though, since she has volleyball practice after school. I get out at 2:35.” I offer a concerned smile in an attempt to smooth things over. “Maybe you should drink some orange juice and go back to bed.”
    â€œYou’re awfully sweet to worry about me, but there’s too much to do. Wallpaper that needs to come down, carpet to order, paint to buy. This place is a mess.” She sighs and disappears into her closet.
    I refrain from asking, “Whose fault is that?” She already knows how I feel about our situation.
    Land
, my parents said before we moved.
We’re going to have land!
    Land shmand. Land has bugs. Namely, mosquitoes. And everything’s bigger in Texas, they say. Except our house. Well, it’s smaller than our old house. And it’s a foreclosure so it was cheap. Translation: a wreck. Ma’s little project to keep her busy. Whatever. I got to pick out my room and that door is closed to her color samples and fabric swatches. I have my own vision for it that involves a fresh coat of paint,twinkle lights, and every classic movie poster I can get my hands on.
    â€œWell, just don’t go climbing ladders or anything when nobody else is home,” I call to her before turning for the hallway.
    â€œHow did you get so paranoid?”
    Ignoring her, I rush to my bathroom and add the finishing touches to my makeup, which include drawing a beauty mark on the top corner of my cheek near my left eye. A tiny star, just like the one Jean Hagen wore in
Singin’ in the Rain
for the silent film parts. I’ve been practicing all weekend to get the look just right. You only get one chance to make a first impression.
    Spraying my loose curls—I battled with the styling wand for nearly an hour—and scanning my wardrobe one more time, I approve my combo of casual and dressy. I grab my purse and a thick six-subject spiral notebook from my room and shout a good-bye to Ma, snatch my lunch box, and run out the door before she can stop me and get all sentimental. I slip into Angela’s Beetle and resist the urge to change my outfit. She’s wearing jeans the same yellow as her car, red flats, and a bright blue top with flowy sleeves, and her raven hair is half up, half down. Giant sunglasses cover half her face, so her deep red lips are the focal point. She’ll definitely turn some heads today.
    â€œI’m not sure if I should be going to school with you,” I say as she expertly backs out of my driveway. “Your paparazzi might run me over.”
    â€œPlease,” she says with a laugh. “You’re the hot one with all those curls. Just so you know, I almost shut the door on youFriday night as soon as I looked at you.” She peeks at me as she shifts into drive. “Did you join a gang since the last time I saw you?”
    â€œWhat?” I ask, clicking my seat belt and smiling at the blood-red rose stuck in the bud vase near the steering wheel. Matches her lips and shoes.
    She taps her cheek. “Star-face.”
    I laugh and check in the visor mirror to make sure it hasn’t gotten smeared. “Have you seen
Singin’ in the Rain
?”
    â€œOh, you like the really old movies.” She throws her head back and